This Game I Play

 I've played this game before

with another

in another lifetime.

We soar,

we fly,

And then suddenly, I wake up

on the cold concrete ground of reality.

I've played this game before,

and isn't it fun? With your head in the clouds, your feet off the ground?

But I know what's to come.

I know that I'll wake up

on the cold concrete ground of reality soon.

It's coming. 

The storm is only inches away from hitting us,

throwing us,

pulling us into it's whirlwind of madness. 

We're in the eye of this oncoming storm,

I say, 

but I don't think you hear me,

as you continue to play this game.

I've played this game before,

and yet,

when the storm hits,

it hurts more

than I remembered.

Every time, it takes me

into a world of pain

I swore I had overcame.

I've played this game before,

but I've never blacked out

as bad as I did that night.

I never realized how cold,

how unforgiving,

the concrete ground of reality could be.

And now I play this game I've played before.


And I can see the storm coming.

And I brace for impact.

But it takes me away.

It whips at my body.

Lashes at my heart.

And I know I can't play

this game

any longer.

And just as I prepare to hit that cold, hard ground,

something grabs me.

Something holds me in mid air,

suspending me,

controlling me,

carrying me. I'm set on the




ground of reality,

where I can shout the names of those who taught me how to play the game wrong.

Where I can burn their letters,

their moments,

their artifacts,

in this bonfire made for them.

Where they burn,

where they crumble,

where there words are only words,

where there names are just names.

Where I can feel that burn in my chest, of triumph,

of power,

of confidence. 

I can stand on this soft ground of reality, rather than 


with my face

in the coldness of the ground.

Yes, I have played this game before.

And now the game plays me.

It's one


pawn, who has survived

the whipings and thrashings

of the storm.

The storm is passing over,

they scream, 




along with them.

This storm has been passing over, 

but yet I enjoyed

holding on 

to the grey clouds.

And now, as I let go,

I pry my heart to the world,

so I can 




to my own rules.

The End

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